Being Alive
by Cyanne 76
Summary: Being alone is not being alive. A David fic.


**Being Alive**

_But alone_

_Is alone_

_Not alive_

David stood completely silent and motionless, staring at the recently carved headstone in front of him. His blue eyes, normally vibrant, were lifeless and dull. Suddenly, a choking sob escaped from his throat, followed by another, and another. He fell to his knees and rocked back and forth, covering his face with his hands. When he exhausted himself, he stretched out on the ground, his cheek against the freshly turned earth, and lay still.

As Jack watched his friend break down, his own eyes welled with tears. David had always been his voice of reason, his pillar of strength. To see him in such a position broke his heart. He placed his arm around his wife's waist as a tear ran down his cheek. Sarah leaned her head on Jack's shoulder and closed her eyes, not wanting to believe that this moment was real.

When David didn't so much as flinch after a lengthy amount of time passed, Jack grew concerned. He approached his friend, kneeled down beside him, and placed his hand on David's back.

"Dave," he began tentatively, not knowing what he should say, "Ruth wouldn't want to see you like this."

David didn't respond.

"Why don't you stay with Sarah an' me for the night?" He looked back at Sarah helplessly when David didn't answer. "Caleb can stay with your parents again, and it wouldn't be no trouble."

At the mention of his son, David rolled over onto his back and looked at Jack. Jack shuddered at the pain in his eyes.

"How 'bout it, Dave?" Jack asked again, his voice quiet.

David slowly pulled himself to a sitting position, and nodded wordlessly. David's silence frightened Jack. Jack extended his hand to David, who accepted it and stood up.

"I loved her so much, Jack." David whispered, wiping his eyes.

Jack's hazel eyes met his friend's. "I know ya did, Dave."

"Why couldn't it have been me?" David asked, shoulders slumping.

"Don't say that, Davey. This don't make sense right now, but she's gone. You're here, thank God. Caleb needs his pop, all right?" Jack had his hands on David's shoulders, facing him.

David's mouth remained closed as Jack led him to the sidewalk, Sarah in tow.

* * *

"Sarah, I don't know what to do. It's like he's locked himself away from the world..." Jack said as she placed a steaming cup of milk in front of him.

Sarah placed a hand on her husband's shoulder. "She was his life, her and Caleb."

"I'm tryin' to be there for him, but he won't hardly even look at me anymore! How can I help him if he won't listen!" Jack's voice rose.

"He's not going to listen for a while yet, Jack. It takes time." She squeezed Jack's shoulder gently.

"It's been three months! And what about Caleb, huh? Your parents are tryin', but your poor mother shouldn't have to be totin' a kid around with her back...If this keeps up, that kid ain't gonna know his own pop."

"David will come around, Jack. He loves his son." Sarah affirmed.

"Caleb don't know that, though. This morning, when I went to bring Mayer some cigars, Caleb..." He stopped.

"Jack?" Sarah asked quietly, moving to sit in the chair next to Jack.

He hesitated. "It was probably nothin'..."

"What was nothing?" She prodded.

He sighed. "He called me poppa."

"Darling, Caleb is only two years old, he's going to make mistakes..."

"You're probably right. Still, it just ain't right. A kid should know his own father, Sarah. Trust me, I know." He softened his voice.

"He will come around, believe me." She resolved.

"He'd better. I don't know who he is anymore."

* * *

He had retired early that night, but it hadn't seemed out of character. He'd gone to bed before seven nearly every night since Ruth had died. He'd gone to bed, but he hadn't fallen asleep. Most nights he'd stare at the ceiling for hours until exhaustion finally took hold of him. Nothing was the same anymore. He was in Jack and Sarah's apartment, and had been for the past three months. It wasn't his bed. Ruth wasn't beside him. He'd lost weight, he was merely a shadow of his former self now. Food had lost its appeal. Ruth had been a wonderful cook, even better than Mama, he'd tell her. Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, he'd wake up and he could smell her- just like freshly baked bread set on the counter to cool. A few moments would pass before he remembered the scent was coming from the bakery next-door.

She was gone, David realized that now. Death had swept her away as effortlessly as a man could swat a spider on the wall. He still dreamt about it. She looked so beautiful that day. Her unruly chestnut hair was tied neatly back, but a few curls had sprung loose. He had asked her if she needed any help, but she had refused. She wanted to reach that serving dish on her own. She pulled out a chair to stand on. She smiled as she reached for the dish, and displayed it triumphantly for her husband to see. He had laughed at her pride, and just like that, his laughter turned to screams as the chair gave way. She was still smiling when he reached her crumpled form. He told her to hang on, that she would be all right. She never answered. Her neck had broken. Caleb was crying from his high chair, he had finished all of his peas and wanted some more.

David shook his head in the darkness of his bedroom, attempting to shake the memory of her glazed eyes, and Caleb's cries. In the silence, he could hear Jack and Sarah. He realized they were talking about him. And then the conversation shifted to Caleb. What did they know about his son? He was fine with Mayer and Esther for now. He needed more time to erase his pain before he could see him again.

"He called me poppa." Jack's words cut through David like the sharpest of knives.

At that moment, David made a decision. This would be his last night in the Kelly household. He was going home.

* * *

"D-David?" Esther Jacobs, the matriarch of Jacobs family, gasped when she noticed her son standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Momma." David said quietly, waiting for her to reach him before he placed a kiss on her cheek.

"It's so wonderful to see you!" She exclaimed, breathless from the unexpectedness of his arrival. "Mayer, dear, come quickly, David's come!"

"Where's Caleb? I've come to take him home." David explained as his father joined the reunion.

"Oh dear." The words escaped Esther's lips before she could stop them. When David tensed, she quickly continued, "I am sure Caleb will be delighted."

"Are you sure you're ready, son?" Mayer, mustachioed and with more lines on his face than David remembered, questioned, voicing Esther's silent concerns.

David met his father's eyes, and the hurt and emptiness they reflected broke Mayer's heart. "He is my son, and it is time he came home with me." David stated firmly, though there was an obvious apprehension in his voice.

Caleb, a sturdy boy with a mass of chocolate curls and his father's vivid blue eyes toddled into the room, attracted by the voices. His sudden appearance made a lump rise to David's throat. Kneeling with outstretched arms, he called to his son.

"Caleb, come to Poppa."

There was, to David's relief, a glint of recognition in Caleb's wide eyes, though the child made no immediate movement toward his father. David once again urged him to come into his arms. After a moment of decision, Caleb finally obliged. Slowly, he waddled into David's arms, not even wriggling as his father raised him up.

There were no words that seemed adequate to accompany the emotions that rushed David as he held his son again. Mayer glanced at his wife, who was wiping the corner of her eye with her apron.

"I'll collect Caleb's things." Mayer stated, slipping away.

* * *

As he approached his apartment door, David took a deep breath in, and pulled Caleb into a tighter hug. "Here we are, son. We're home."

The familiar smells were masked by must, and with all of the curtains drawn, the apartment seemed almost tomb-like. Using Caleb as a sort of emotional shield, he was able to make his way through the room to pull open the curtains. Setting Caleb down, he surveyed his surroundings. It all looked the same. The windows, the chairs, the table were exactly how he remembered them. And yet, it was all different. He could hear no absent-minded humming from the kitchen. There was no pie on the window sill cooling. There was no laughter.

There was no life.

Overcome, David closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, ignoring the sound of his son's sudden cries by drowning them out with his own.

* * *

Sarah had a difficult time refraining her distress when she entered David's apartment nearly one month after he had returned. She had always prized her housekeeping skills, but with one quick glance around the room, she doubted even she could restore its condition. Caleb played contentedly with a crumpled up piece of newspaper as Sarah stumbled toward the kitchen.

"David Isaiah Jacobs!" She cried after stubbing her toe on a misplaced wooden train.

David peaked his head out from the kitchen, his cheeks slightly fuller than they had been the last time Sarah had seen him. "Sarah? Why didn't you warn-er, tell me that you were coming for a visit?"

"Well, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise." She said sternly, her toe still aching. Softening her tone, she added, "We've missed you. Nobody was even sure you were alive anymore. I'm relieved to see that you are-"

"That depends on your definition of alive." David muttered.

Unsure of the proper response, Sarah was relieved to hear Caleb begin to babble. "Oh, Caleb, darling!" She exclaimed, "Come see your Aunt!" She moved to the toddler, who looked up from his inventive toy. A grin stretched across his face as Sarah picked him up.

Carrying the child into the kitchen, Sarah tried to avoid the rancid stench as she sat down at the table. "How have you been, Davey?"

Taking the seat opposite his sister, he shrugged. "Caleb seems happy." Leaning back, he ventured, "And how are you? How is Jack?"

"Both of us are doing fine."

"Have you heard from Les lately?" His interest was genuine, though to Sarah he sounded as if he was reading the questions off of some sort of list of polite inquiries.

Caleb grabbed hold of a lock of her brown hair and with a less-than-gentle yank exclaimed "Pretty head!"

After a brief laugh, Sarah informed David that Les was thriving in his recently acquired position as the head of the business branch of studies at a university in Connecticut. At the age of twenty-five, he was the youngest to hold the position in the history of the university.

"Have you been able to get very much writing done?" Sarah probed.

"I haven't been very inspired lately." Came the answer.

It was indeed a thankful thing that David had previously had moderate success as a freelance essayist and occasional poet, for the nest egg he had put aside in the past now served as the funds for rent, food, and other things necessary to maintain a comfortable lifestyle for both David and Caleb. Still, writing had always been David's passion. Since Ruth's departure, his ability to articulate his thoughts onto paper had vanished. Caleb served to sufficiently distract David from this newly arisen problem, for he was often too exhausted at the end of the day to even spare a fleeting thought about his writer's block.

"David, I don't mean to be a bother, but have you looked around in here lately?" She knew the subject had to be brought up eventually, and now was, she figured, as good a time as any.

"I live here, don't I?" David returned.

"Well, yes, but I don't believe that it's fit to be lived in!" She exclaimed, bouncing Caleb on her knee.

"You know as well as I that I don't know the first thing about keeping a house. That was Ruth's area of expertise." David's expression saddened.

"I am aware of that, Davey, but it looks as if you haven't even made an attempt. You are an intelligent man, I'm sure you could figure out how to wash a dish or sweep the floor."

At that moment, David strongly resembled a guilty schoolboy being scolded by his mother for forgetting to wash his hands before dinner. In all reality, he probably could have made at least minimal effort to maintain some sort of standard of cleanliness. He wasn't going to admit it, but part of him felt as if doing so would be intruding on Ruth's domain.

Sarah could see that she had hit some sort of sore spot on her brother, but she had no intention of retracting her accusation. His home was unfit for life, it truly was. Dishes were piled high on the counter, dirt and other unidentifiable matters of filth blanketed the floor. Clothes, mostly Caleb's, were strewn haphazardly over just about any open surface. Even the kitchen table where they now sat was piled high with Caleb's clean (or so Sarah hoped) nappies. There was an unidentifiable rancid stench that wafted through the room.

"Have you considered hiring a housekeeper?"

His immediate reaction was to take offense. He couldn't take Ruth's place, and certainly no stranger was going to be given that opportunity.

In the midst of the pause, Sarah hoped to further her cause, "Look around you, Davey. Do you want Caleb to grow up in.." She searched for the right word. "This?"

A heavy sigh came as a response from David, and then, "I don't have the money."

"Then write something. It doesn't matter what. You could copy the dictionary and they'd call you genius."

"You don't understand, I can't write anything." His voice was unnaturally quiet.

"I just told you, you could copy the dictionary and still sell copies."

"I just can't, all right?" David's nostrils were flaring, a sign usually preceded an angry outburst.

Sarah, however, didn't drop the subject. "Fine. You're having some artistic trouble, and that's perfectly understandable. But things are never going to get better if you keep on living in this hell hole. You can't do this alone."

By 'this,' Sarah was referring to keeping the house in running order. She did not mean to imply that David could not look after Caleb properly, or that he was somehow handicapped since his wife's death. David, however, was not aware of her intentions.

"Sarah, I thank you for stopping by. Caleb and I have some very important matters to attend to. Please close the door on your way out." His cold gaze all at once terrified and saddened his older sister, whose eyes quickly brimmed with tears.

"David, I never meant that-"

"Goodbye."

Placing a very confused Caleb onto the floor, she pulled herself to a sitting position. "I love you, David. I don't like seeing you like this." She whispered, and nearly ran out of the apartment, forgetting David's request to close the door behind her.

* * *

In the days that followed, David found Sarah's words ever-present in his mind. As he struggled to peel the banana that Caleb was demanding, they danced in his thoughts.

"Buddy, what are we gonna do?" He asked, handing the fruit to his son.

Caleb snatched the banana greedily. "Mine!" He exclaimed.

After a wistful laugh, David shook his head. "You're not being very helpful."

For the last few days, the pages of a newspaper had served as a sort of temporary tablecloth. After watching Caleb mash the banana, some of it entering his mouth, David shrugged slightly and began reading the section nearest his seat.

Caleb nearly jumped out of his high chair when David exclaimed, "Aha!"

* * *

"You did what!" Jack choked.

"I got married." David repeated, with little excitement.

"But...why?" Was all Jack could get out.

David shrugged. "Sarah was right, I can't do it alone."

Sarah closed her eyes as she replied, "I didn't mean for you to..." She stopped, it was too late for him to turn back now. Opening her eyes with a sigh, "Who is she?"

"Her name is Beatrice." He stated.

"That's it? You come in here, tell us you got married, and all you have to say is 'Her name is Beatrice?'" Jack said it stoically, more out of disbelief than anything.

"Well, what else is there?"

"We can begin with the basics...how do you know her?" Sarah intermitted.

"I just met her."

Jack swore.

"She had an ad in the newspaper." He finished.

Another, far more vile swear escaped Jack's lips before he could respond. "David, you know I love you, right?" David nodded. "And Sarah and I are always here to support you, you know that, don't you?" Another nod. "Then you shouldn't be upset when I ask you what the hell you were thinking." A blank stare. "Well?" Jack prodded.

"I was thinking that I want my life back, Jack, all right?" David said defensively.

"David, we never knew that you were interested in...finding love again. This is just all so sudden." Sarah tried in a voice that sounded far more collected than she actually was.

"I'm not interested in 'finding love,' okay? But I have a kid to look after, and a career to regain, and a home to maintain, and I was doing a pretty miserable job of it on my own. Beatrice and I-that is to say, she's not really my wife in the...typical sense. We have an understanding. She takes care of the household affairs so I can focus on rebuilding my life. It's strictly business."

Shaking her head, Sarah muttered,"You're describing a housekeeper..."

"That's really what she is." At the shocked glares, David sighed. "Listen, I'm doing this girl a favor. She was recently widowed, and she has a small child of her own..."

"Shit, David, a kid?" Jack moaned.

"Her advertisement explained how she was a young widow with an infant who was concerned for her child's welfare, for she could not work. She desired to find a husband who could take care of her, and she promised she would work very hard to make his home a pleasant one. Now, before you criticize me again, think. What sort of man would choose to marry a poor widow with a child?"

"No one, I guess." Jack admitted.

"Exactly. The poor creature would have starved had I not responded." David crossed his arms, satisfied with his explanation.

"That poor girl." Sarah said softly. "When is the soonest that I may come pay her a visit?"

David shrugged. "Anytime, I guess."

"She must be absolutely terrified. I will come by tomorrow afternoon, and help her with supper."

* * *

Beatrice Beachaump Jacobs smiled victoriously as she surveyed the results of her recent deep-cleaning of the kitchen. What had been disorder and chaos less than thirty-six hours before she had transformed into an accessible, organized room. Her nine-month old son, Christopher, balanced on her hip, and a dishrag in her free hand, she looked every bit the middle-class housewife.

Her marriage, she knew, was atypical. Still, she was not dreadfully upset by the arrangement. David Jacobs would be able to provide for Christopher in a way that she couldn't. Laurence, God rest his soul, had been a wonderful husband, but he had also been a terrible gambler. When he died eight months previously, he left her with so many debts that she was unsure how she would ever escape their menacing shadow. Her ad had been placed out of desperation, and when David responded she was in no position to decline his offer, strange though it may have been.

She was relieved, really. Laurence had been her first love, and her only love, and she had no intentions of replacing him. She was prepared, if it was the case, to become a full-fledged wife should the man who responded to the ad request all of her. If sleeping with someone she didn't love was the only way to provide for her son, she was willing to make that sacrifice. When David explained that all he needed was someone to take care of the home and help raise his small son, she had cried from relief.

Lowering Christopher onto a blanket that David's son Caleb was contentedly resting on, Beatrice set about to start to prepare dinner for four. David had left several hours earlier to visit his parents and, Beatrice assumed, explain his recent "marriage." She was glad to not be invited, for although she had not been told as much, she knew that David's decision to wed her would be very unexpected.

"Davey?" Came a feminine voice from the doorway, startling Beatrice, who had been pondering what type of food David and Caleb were used to.

Regaining her composure, Beatrice wiped her hands on her apron (more out of habit than necessity) and moved to greet the visitor.

Sarah stood gazing at the apartment in wonder. If Beatrice, she thought, was little more than a housekeeper, she was at the very least an excellent one.

"Oh, hello there." Sarah said as an unfamiliar face rounded the corner.

"Hello." Came the reply. "David is not here right now. He is attending to some errands."

"Well, it's no matter. My name is Mrs. Sarah Kelly, I'm David's sister. His older and, I might add, wiser sister." She said cheerily, she then lowered her voice to a near whisper. "I'm rather glad David's gone, really, it's you who I wanted to chat with!"

"Then you came at the right time. He won't be home for another hour or two at the least. I'm glad to be meeting you, Sarah."

Both women stood still for a few moments, studying the other's face. Sarah was quite beautiful, Beatrice noted. She was tall and regal, and Beatrice felt every bit the awkward schoolgirl in comparison.

Beatrice was of medium height and plain features. Her dark blonde hair was messily swept atop her head, and several strands had come loose. She looked as if she would be much more attractive if she was ever so slightly plump, and indeed Sarah suspected that she might have been at one time. Sarah thought of the young son David had mentioned, and it crossed her mind how lovely she must have been when she was with child.

"Why don't we move to the kitchen. I do hope you haven't started fixing supper yet, I had hoped to give you a hand." Sarah smiled.

"No, I haven't. And thank you, I would very much appreciate the help."

With that, the duo moved to the kitchen, Beatrice stopping briefly to pick up Christopher, who had started to whimper.

"Oh, is this my new nephew, then?" Sarah asked once they had settled down.

Beatrice paused. "Yes, this is Christopher." She looked down at his bald head and smiled. "You see, Chris, sweetie, this is your Aunt Sarah."

Chris cooed. "He's darling, and I'll bet Caleb is thrilled to have a little brother."

It was final, then. David really was her husband. Caleb really was her son. This Sarah Kelly was her sister-in-law. It was a realization that came suddenly, and Beatrice found her eyes welling up with warm tears. Not of bitterness or of sadness, but of sheer overwhelmingness. She blinked them away quickly, and forced a smile.

"He seems to get along with Chris just fine." Beatrice responded.

"Well, I must say, dear, that I came to make sure you were coping well under such–" Sarah searched for the correct phrase. "Unusual circumstances. When Davey came to my husband and I yesterday evening, I could scarcely believe that the words coming out his mouth were true. I do hope you're not terribly unhappy."

"Oh no. I have a roof over my head, and Chris will not go hungry. I am content."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that. Jack and I were so concerned. I mean, the way that David described you, we were sure that you–well, that you simply wouldn't be happy here."

Beatrice raised her eyebrows. "A-and, just how did David describe me?"

"I can't recall the particulars, really..." Sarah stuttered.

"Sarah, you can be honest. I'm not going to take offense." Beatrice assured matter-of-factly.

Sarah pursed her lips for a moment and then plunged. "All right, then, he didn't seem to know much about you at all. In fact, he didn't tell us anything about you other than your name, and the fact that you had a child. The way he described your relationship, it sounded like you would be, well, more of a servant than a wife."

Beatrice laughed uncomfortably. "That is true." She admitted. At Sarah's widened eyes, she continued, "But I am not unhappy. Believe me, I am much more content this way than, well, in any number of other ways that my ad could have resulted in. I promise that although I sincerely wish that I hadn't needed to place the ad, I would rather this than having to bed some wrinkly old man for my supper."

Sarah nearly choked at Beatrice's straightforward explanation. "I'm glad, then. I'm glad, truly." She cleared her throat. "And I do hope that you will not feel like you are simply a housekeeper when you are with me, or my husband, Jack, for that matter. You are, no matter the arrangement you've made with my brother, my sister in the eyes of the law." She placed a gentle hand on Beatrice's knee. "And you are my sister in my eyes as well."

"This would seem the proper time for a hug, would it not?" Beatrice smiled.

Sarah nodded, and the pair embraced, encircling Christopher's bewildered face.

Sarah wanted to ask Beatrice so much more. About her interests, her past life, her family, her husband. Somehow, though, now did not seem the proper time. After all, despite their intensely personal exchange, it was only their first meeting. Instead, Sarah took a deep breath in.

"Now, shall we set about fixing supper, then?"

Beatrice grinned, which Sarah noticed was quite becoming on an otherwise unremarkable face. "Yes, now do you have any suggestions?"

* * *

Christopher's shrill wails broke Beatrice's exhausted sleep. She had been at the Jacobs apartment for just over two weeks, and had spent every waking minute busying herself about the home. When she wasn't baking, scrubbing, laundering, or dusting, she was nursing Christopher, pulling small objects out of Caleb's mouth, or pressing David's ties. The small room she shared with Christopher was drenched with darkness and she stumbled as she moved to her son's basinet.

"Hush, now, Chris, love. Momma's here." She whispered as she lifted his tiny figure to her chest.

She carefully made her way back to her bed, loosened the strings around the collar of her night shift, and slipped one shoulder out, exposing her breast to the eager child.

As Christopher fed, she sighed. She could tell from the silence of the streets below that it would be hours still until sunrise. She couldn't have been asleep for more than two hours when she was rudely awakened.

Christopher turned his head away from her chest, and Beatrice covered herself. She raised herself to bring her boy back to his basinet, but the resurgence of Chris' whimpering caused her moan.

"Darling, hush now. It's the night now, Chris, it's time for Momma to get some sleep." She explained, though she knew it was a lost cause.

Hushing the nine-month-old over and over she attempted to pace the room. It was, however, quite difficult since the room was so small that the bed and basinet nearly filled the entire space.

His whimpering began to grow louder, and since her room was adjacent to Caleb and David's, she began to fear waking them. With a defeated sigh, she opened the door to her room and made her way to the kitchen, shifting Christopher onto one hip briefly enough to light a candle.

"I love you, child, but you must stop this nonsense. Momma's tired." She whispered as Christopher continued his noisy protests.

It was clear that Christopher would have none of his mother's pleas. He hadn't soiled his nappy, his stomach was full, and he had already been burped. She knew there was only recourse left save admitting defeat and allowing him to call it morning and letting him roam about the room.

She began with a soft lullaby. Her tired voice was slightly off-pitch, but Chris seemed not to mind. The strains of his favorite song brought a hush upon him that Beatrice was greatly thankful for.

* * *

David hadn't been able to fall asleep. It had to be past midnight, and though his eyelids were heavy, he simply couldn't close them. Caleb's steady breathing from the pillow beside him assured him that his unrest had not been contagious. The apartment, save Caleb's sighs was silent.

The cries of Beatrice's son suddenly trumpeted through the silence, though muffled by the wall between them. Caleb started to snore ever so slightly, which was a sign that at least one member of the Jacobs household was not disturbed. David listened, for it was the only thing he could do, as the door to Beatrice's chamber squeaked open and her footsteps and Christopher's cries, though not silent, waned.

Then Chris' wailing stopped. It became eerily quiet and for a moment David wondered whether the child had cried himself into such a state that he had passed out. Then a soft melody reached his ears. It was a sad, haunting tune.

'I walked alone in foggy dew  
Just me and my memories  
A voice out seaward beckons thru  
A whistle of love for me, for me  
A whistle of love for me.'

Tears welled in David's eyes as he recognized the words and the melody. Though the voice was faint, he was sure it was his beloved. It had all been a dream. A horrible, terrifying dream, but it was over. He was awake now, and she was still here. Swiftly, he darted from his bed to the source of the song.

His movements were fluid and nearly silent, and tears stung his eyes. He could see her there in the dimness of the kitchen. Her figure. Swaying gently back and forth with the rhythm of the song. His knees locked from a few feet away as he thought of how much he wanted to hold her, smell her, hear her voice.

The light of a candle danced across the room, but David's eyes were dulled by brimming tears. Swallowing, he reached for her shoulder.

He needed to touch her. God, how he needed to touch her.

The singing stopped and was replaced with a startled squeal, she whirled around.

The candle suddenly seemed much brighter, and the mask of the tears less inhibiting as David stared at the frightened face. He had not touched her. He would never touch her again. He sank to his knees with silent sobs, burying his face in his hands.

Alone in the minimal light, her lids heavy with exhaustion and her arms tired from the weight of her son, David's sudden appearance caused Beatrice's heart to skip a beat. For a moment, she thought him to be a sort of thief creeping through the dead of night. When the man fell to the floor, however, she recognized her husband.

"David?" She probed softly. Despite sharing the same residence for the past two weeks, she hardly knew the man. His current state was of great discomfort to her, and she hadn't the faintest idea how to react.

He didn't answer, sniffling instead. She waited in the quiet, shifting from foot to foot.

"I should be putting Chris down. He's finally fallen asleep." Without waiting to see if David would respond, she retreated to her room.

* * *

Beatrice could hear David's silent sobs growing louder as she placed her son back into his basinet. Frowning, she mumbled something under her breath similar to, "He'd better not wake this child up." Guilt instantly overwhelmed her at the thought, giving way to pity as the sounds continued.

"How could you be so selfish?" She chided herself.

Reluctantly, for Beatrice was really quite exhausted, she lit the candle she had just blown out and moved back toward the kitchen.

He was still on his knees, his shoulders shaking violently. She approached tentatively, and eventually mustered the nerve to lean down and place her hand soothingly on his back. David didn't so much as flinch when he felt Beatrice's touch.

"David," her voice was quiet, as if she spoke any louder David might shatter, "You should be sleeping."

His shoulders steadied, though tears still glistened in his crystal blue eyes.

"I thought you were Ruth." He explained in a broken, pitiful voice.

She had guessed as much, but that didn't make it any easier to hear.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes began to sting with oncoming tears at his broken state. "For your sake, I wish I was."

"I should be sleeping. You're right." He said unevenly, moving to his feet.

"Goodnight, David." Beatrice offered.

"Goodnight." He paused. "Beatrice."

* * *

David rose the next morning with some hesitation. Memories of his meltdown returned and made him heavy with humiliation. Poor Beatrice. He rolled over to discover that Caleb had already arisen. Confused, for Caleb knew that he was never to leave the bedroom at night without adult supervision, David pulled himself to a seated position allowing a brief panic to set in.

"Caleb?" He called, clamoring out of bed and into the living room.

"He's with your mother for the day. She was absolutely insistent that she bring the boys to the park."

"Beatrice...how do you...do everything you do?" David found himself stuttering as he formulated the question between bites of fried egg.

Beatrice pondered the odd query as she sat down. "I'm not sure I understand the question."

David swallowed. "You have lost as much as I have. Probably more. But you can still do...well, everything you do." He paused to take a swig of coffee.

The night's events taking a toll on her sleep, Beatrice stifled a yawn. "I don't know. I suppose it's because I'm still alive."

"I am too," David responded. "But you still...smile."

Beatrice looked up at her husband's glittering eyes. "I have a roof over my head, two wonderful children to care for, and someone to provide for me. Why shouldn't I smile?"

_Why, indeed._ David thought, suddenly touched at Beatrice's sentiment.

"Excellent breakfast." David folded his napkin and stood. "Thank you."

* * *

"All right, Davey, you have something to say. I know that look." Jack smirked. "C'mon, then, get on with it!"

"I wrote something." David announced.

Sarah's hands flew up in glee as she embraced him. "Oh, David, that's wonderful!"

Cheeks crimson, and more than a little bit pleased he started to say something, but thought twice and held it back.

"What's it about?" Jack and Sarah spoke unanimously.

David was silent for a moment. "Beatrice."

Sarah and Jack exchanged raised eyebrows, before Sarah queried, "What about her?"

"Well, it's not just about Beatrice. I mean, it is about her, but it is more about finding...peace...about being alive." He struggled to articulate, and found his palms starting to sweat.

Sarah searched for words to respond with, but found herself once again embracing her brother. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

"I am so glad." Sarah whispered as she clung to him.

David looked at Sarah, blue eyes meeting brown. He knew she was not referring merely to his first piece of creativity since Ruth's demise, but he could not admit that to himself. Not yet.

Sarah sensed hesitation on David's behalf, but smiled warmly. She could see in him now what had been missing so long. Hope. And he, too, would come to recognize that in time.

_I'll always be there_

_As frightened as you_

_To help us survive_

_Being alive_


End file.
